Don’t know how I got here.
Most of this blood isn’t mine.
Except for the gut wound,
Gods this hurts.
This was stupid, but had to kill something.
Got to get back before I’m missed.
Don’t matter, I’ll make it back.
Have to be there for him.
Hate them so much.
It’s a lovely device. A square based contraption with a rounded top. The frame is solid oak, tinted a sullen ash and accented with gold filigree. The face itself is simple, the second hand a tiny metal sliver, tipped in gold, while the minute and hour hands are unpolished, yet quite expertly crafted tin. The arms are molded in such a fashion that they leave no illusion as to the moment, so precise is their point, and it is this, perhaps, that I admire the most about it. I run my fingers over the clear glass cover, smiling. Such a lovely creation.
The cold light of a Darnassian dawn filtered through the curtains of Celise's spare bedroom. She'd been glad to see me and I'd filled her in on what was going on. She'd agreed to help, now it was just a matter of getting her and Kharris together and figuring out what was up with Iloam. And that damn mage, still needed to find her.
At least the breeding rituals were starting to unravel. I'd tried one of the Nightsabre priestesses, she'd nearly fainted when I told her what I needed. Well, she was young and had flat out told me she'd no experience with that sort of thing; and still a virgin if the rumors were true, poor thing.
Oh hello, my lovely little darlings! And how are all my appetizers doing today? Good? I hope so. I hope you are all nicely stewing in your juices, ripening on the vine as it were. Let's see what to tell, what to tell? Well, your favorite succi has a had to have a little move. Since I had the little abortive run-in with Mr. Nosbren, I couldn't very well stay over the Slaughtered Lamb anymore, could I my dears. No that would have been a good way to get yours truly stuck with a nasty, pointy, envenomed thing in the middle of the night. Or even worse... a visit from the local clergy. And not the bend me over the coffee table and make me confess like an altar boy type of visit either. No no, we're talking exorcism and expulsion, two of my least favorite things. That just wouldn't do at all. So I abandoned my little flat and made off with my bottles and baubles to a new place here in Old Towne.
[ This may seem like it's wandering, but it's suppose to be from the mind of someone who is mentally unstable. ]
The young monk's eyes stared into Fanshen's, their noses just inches apart. His breath smelled like the simple way bread they ate here at the monastery. The monks made it in the big kitchens they'd passed on their way through the building. She detected the hint of honey, maybe cinnamon... she couldn't be sure. The young man tried to gasp, to pull a breath. The coppery smell of blood mixed with the bread smell on him. A gurgling wet sound was all that escaped his lips. In the few seconds they'd stood so close, his face had gone from the crimson filled blush of battle to a pale blue. His pupils had dilated disjointedly and his eyes had become unfocused. Fanshen could feel the warmth of his blood on her hands through her gloves. Each of her hands still gripped her daggers' hilts, which protruded from the man's chest like some sort of demented handles. As his body's systems began to fail from the lack of oxygen, he slumped. She let him drop to the cool flag stones like a broken doll.